


My Broken Life

by cissyalice



Series: Winter In My Heart [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, also teenagers trying to teen, bellamy tries to help, clarke has a lot of feelings, humor?, it's complicated - Freeform, maybe? - Freeform, not really - Freeform, specifically a lot of lexa feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissyalice/pseuds/cissyalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And while you welcomed her presence, a part of you burned, hungered for something else. You wanted to both smooth the pain from her face and drag your nails through her vulnerable flesh. You wanted to hold her and you wanted to tear her to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Broken Life

**Author's Note:**

> So . . .   
> Let me first just say i'm really, really sorry that Lexa's not in this chapter. I swear, she was supposed to show up within the first thousand words or so. But somebody *cough* Clarke *cough* wouldn't do what she was told. Really, she's very stubborn. I kept saying 'you have to go see Lexa' and she just kept dragging her heels. Really, she's a bigger procrastinator than me. Have no fear, though, I am working on the next part in which they will meet up. This time I am going to put my foot down. Clarke, missy, you are going to see Lexa. It's for your own good. And hers. And mine.

_“I want to be with you,_

_it is as simple,_

_and as complicated as that.”_

_— Charles Bukowski_

 

The weather’s warmed up so you’re back on your own now, with short stays at Camp Jaha that become more and more frequent as the weeks progress. Living inside Mount Weather was nothing short of a nightmare-surrounded by the people you saved, trapped inside an architectural reminder of those you killed-but you find that it’s not as hard to be around your friends as it once was. You’re acclimatising,

You find yourself leaning on Bellamy more than expected-when you can, when you allow yourself to. Bellamy who has taken charge of the hundred-

you wince

-46 you abandoned, even though he too is buckling under the strain. Bellamy who would grant you forgiveness a thousand times over if it could make a difference-it can’t, especially when you know he hasn’t even be able to forgive himself. Bellamy who gave no protest the morning you barged into his tent after leaving Lexa’s, demanding that they return to Mount Weather at once, despite the fact that he’d been secretly pining for Echo’s company since winter began.

And you are so, so grateful to him. You are. But . . .

But no matter how hard he tries to shoulder all that weight for you, he can’t. And you don’t want him to.

You’re the only one who can bear it, the only one who _should_. You can share a little here and there but ultimately the load is your own.

And that’s not something that he, that _anyone_ can understand, not really.

Anyone except for Lexa.

Maybe that’s why you sought her out, even after you swore to yourself you never would.

You were weak to give in. 

 

 ...

 

You’re at Camp Jaha this afternoon, having stopped by for a visit the day before and found yourself coerced into staying the night. Though _coerced_ may be to light a term-Raven had all but tied you to the spare bed in her bunk, earning more than a few sly remarks from Miller; he promptly shut up when the mechanic threatened to desist all reparations to the heater in his room.

To be honest, you were a little surprised by her enthusiasm but you suppose you have been gone for the past two weeks-a particularly bad confrontation with Jasper during your previous visit keeping you away; the last thing you want to do is make things harder for your people and your presence does just that for Jasper. You are nothing now but a reminder of the girl he loved and had to watch die.

Honestly, the same is true in reverse. You still have nightmares every time you see Jasper. Maybe you always will. You deserve to.

But you made sure to keep away from his well-known haunts this time around, and you’re almost certain Bellamy, Raven and Miller somehow managed to work out a system of keeping you two apart.

This is confirmed for you when Bellamy lowers his walker talkie and jogs over, deftly cutting off your forward path into the mech station. He smiles at you charmingly and suggests that the two of you go for a hunt. You see right through it, of course, but you roll your eyes and relent, ignoring the fall of your heart as Bellamy’s shoulders sag in relief.

The lengths they’re going to could be deemed almost ridiculous, immature even, and it feels that way but-

It’s not. There is nothing childish about what brought you here, to this.

Honestly, you’re grateful for what they’re doing.

But you don’t think you’ll be staying another night.

You’re following the tracks of what looks to be a deer but might be a rabbit (Finn would have known), and honestly you’re hoping that you don’t end up finding out which-you haven’t killed an animal since the Mountain, surviving off mostly fruit and nuts, and you feel hesitant about starting now. You’ve had enough of killing, your hands have seen enough blood to last you centuries worth of life, but you don’t say anything to Bellamy. but you didn’t want to say anything to Bellamy. He’s already got enough amo when it comes to worrying about you, no way are you giving him more.

“So,” he begins, breaking into your thoughts. His eyes are focusing determinedly on the deerbbit tracks, as you’ve both taken to calling them. “Echo says the Commander’s going to be visiting Tondc in a few days.”

You maintain a blank face with some effort, not looking at him-this is the first time anyone but Echo’s brought up the commander in your presence, and you’re not sure quite what to say, or what he expects you to say. Has something happened between your people and the grounders recently that needs to be discussed with the commander? Is he giving you a warning so you know to keep away from Tondc-you never stray close to there anyway, the air too thick with the phantom smell of ash-or else risk running into the woman who had broken the alliance you’d killed Finn to make?

Eventually you decide on a simple, short, entirely all too indifferent, “OK.”

He, too, tries for nonchalance. If his performance is anything like you’re own, though, then you’re not fooling anyone. “Maybe you should think of paying a visit, too.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure Indra would love that.”

“The commander would.”

You halt, breath catching, and he does the same. You turn to face him and when you see his eyes, the implications there, your hands start to tremble. You stuff them in the pockets of your jacket. “Bellamy . . .”

He sighs, glances away a moment, finding his words. The fact that he’s thinking about this so hard, being so careful, puts you even more on edge. What does he know? What has he _guessed_? You’ve been so careful, never mentioning Lexa other than to explain what happened that night outside the Mountain-she got offered a better deal; the alliance broke; we worked out a way around it; we won. Anything else is immaterial.

Most people seem fooled, though Raven has given you a few knowing looks whenever you’ve brought it up. Bellamy never gave any sign of suspecting anything, though. He accepted your story the first time you told it and never mentioned it again.

You wonder if he and Raven have been gossiping in their spare time and then nearly roll your eyes-of course they have. And they have Octavia on hand for source material-no doubt she’s been just bursting with highly classified information from her time as Indra’s second. You’re not exactly sure what kind of conclusions she might have drawn, but she did give you some raised eyebrows when Lexa declared that first night that you’d be sharing a tent-for safety reasons, of course. 

“Look, Clarke, I don’t pretend to know what went down between you two but I do know it was a lot more than just a broken alliance.”

Your first instinct is to deny, to insist that he’s wrong and that the only relationship you ever had with Lexa was the professional kind shared between leaders. But you know he won’t buy it. Then you consider telling him that Lexa became something of a friend to you during the campaign, that you even came to trust her and because of that her betrayal _hurt_ -which isn’t even a lie. But you can’t say that. It’s not even the whole truth and it still feels like too much. 

You realize then that you’re not ready to discuss Lexa at all, in any capacity. There’s no level of information that won’t hurt to give away, that won’t fill you with shame at how close you became to someone who could so easily throw you away. You put the lives of your people at risk and it was only through chance, determination and unforgivable sacrifice that you managed to save them. Most of them.

Your dalliance with Lexa was a mistake that should never have been made.

You think even she would agree with that.

You turn away and continue on the path you’ve been following. “Whatever did or didn’t go down, it doesn’t matter now. I’m done with the Commander.” And you want so much to be speaking the truth but the twist in your stomach says otherwise.

Another reason why you can’t talk about this with anyone.

Honestly, you don’t even know why he brought it up, what he’s hoping to achieve by raising the subject of the commander’s presence in Tondc. It _sounds_ like he wants you to go and see her . . .

But that doesn’t even make sense.

Why would he want that? What would even make him think that it’s anywhere near a good idea? What _have_ he and Raven been talking about?

“OK.” He shrugs and you resist the urge to breathe a sigh at his merciful dropping of the subject. There’s a pause as he follows after you and you both continue on in silence. “You know you smile sometimes now?”

It seems you spoke too soon.

The remark is enough to make you glance over at him, squinting in confusion. “What?”

Another shrug and he’s avoiding your gaze. You have a feeling it’s more for your benefit than his. “Since we made that trip to Echo’s village in the winter-you smile. Sometimes”

You swallow, look away.

“. . . I hadn’t noticed.” You both start walking again. You’re trying for indifference but you’re not sure if it’s holding up.

He shakes his head and stops, grabbing your hand. At this point, this deebbit’s going to be on the other side of the continent by the time you catch up to it.

He waits for you to meet his gaze and you find his eyes unusually soft when you do. “Look, you don’t have to go see her. That’s completely up to you and not even any of my business but . . .” He pauses and, despite yourself, you wait for him to continue. “I just wanted you to know that if you _did_ want to, it might not be a bad thing. It might actually be good.”

“She betrayed us Bellamy.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.” For a moment, his expression changes, becomes so dark that you can no longer see the man that spent twenty minutes last night tickling Octavia to tears. No, he hasn’t forgotten. He takes a breath, pushing those thoughts back into the recesses of his mind. “But we’ve all done things.”

And you know he’s thinking about that lever, about Maya who rescued him from hooks and saved so many of their lives. Maya who went against her own people to help them win this war. Maya who now rots under layers of dirt and animal bones.

And you know he has sleepless nights too.

You have _all_ done things.

You know that and still . . .

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

He lets you leave it at that.

 

 ...

 

It’s been three months since you last saw Lexa, since you snuck away in the early hours of the morning, before the majority of the camp was awake. Though snuck might not be the appropriate term. As stealthy as you were, you cannot fool yourself into believing you did not wake Lexa the moment you pulled away. You cannot imagine battle hardened commanders are heavy sleepers, that their senses are not trained for that slightest threat, even in rest.

She probably woke the moment your breathing hitched.

But she pretended. She kept her eyes shut and her breathing steady, and never once tried to stop you, to reach out. For your sake, she pretended.

And you’re grateful for that. 

The time apart is starting to eat away at you, though, much to your dismay.

But you’re reluctant to seek her out again, _more_ than reluctant actually. You’re more inclined to go visit your mother inside Mount Weather, spend an entire week captive inside, than subject yourself to power of Lexa’s gaze again.

Besides, you have no idea where the two of even stand anymore, what you are to each other, what you _should_ be.

That night you spent in her tent has eased some of your resentment, but not all. It still festers inside your chest, waiting to rise up and attack once more. And then there’s that tension and distance that exists between you two, a kind you’re not sure will ever fade. Maybe you don’t want it too. Maybe you _shouldn’t_. It would only make a relationship-of any kind-between you easier and that’s . . .

Not a good idea.

She’s already proved that you can’t count on her, can’t _trust_ her. No matter what friendship you once might have had, whatever connection you might have shared, that’s a tough foundation to build _anything_ on.

Logically, you should work out something with her, anything in order to repair the damage done to the alliance. Not for your own sake but your people’s. The last thing any of you need right now is for another war to break out. And you don’t think your people could win this one, not against the sheer size of the commander’s army. And you don’t want your people to suffer the same fate as the Mountain Men, trapped inside the mountain, unable to venture out into the world-this time because the grounders would pick them off one at time if they ever dare leave its safety.

In that vein, you should try and have a cordial relationship with Lexa.

But only that.

Only that.

Except . . .

‘Only that’ is not what you want.

You hate yourself for it but you want to have a friendship with her, you want to return to the way things were, you want to see if whatever it is that exists between you could potentially evolve into something more, something better.

You miss her company: her ability to understand you in ways no-one else can; her lack of judgment in the face of all that you’ve done; and how she has never once expected you to have all the answers. Even now, though you keep yourself separate from them, your people look to you to lead. All of them. Bellamy, though he tries not to and even has his own place in command, looks to you. Octavia, who you’re quite convinced _hates_ you, still looks to you. Your own mother, who has only just started to wake up to the fact that you’re no longer a child, looks to you. They _all_ look to you.

But Lexa never has. She never will.

And you crave that.

(You think she might also be the only one who can match you blood for blood) [2] 

But there is so much unresolved there, so much left unsaid. It exhausts you to even think about trying to untangle the knotted remains of your relationship.

You tried. You volunteered to accompany Bellamy to Echo’s village, knowing Lexa would be there. You went to her tent with the sole intention of just . . . _trying-_ to clear the air, to begin the unraveling of that knot, to heal. 

You went there needing to impress upon her the cost of her betrayal, the consequences of what she did; but also to say that you understand-you understand more than you can bear-why she did what she did, and yes, she was right, you would have done the same; and a part of you even wants to _forgive_ her-

But she hurt you. She hurt you and you’re not sure it’s possible for her not to do so again, for either of you not to hurt the other and, god, you’re so tired being _hurt-_

But then you actually got there. And you saw her. And all the words you’d compiled in your head-all the things you needed to get off your chest, all the questions you wanted to ask-were overpowered by one thing:

anger.

You hadn’t expected to be so _angry_.

9 months it had been since Mount Weather and anger had not so much as shown its shadow. Bitterness, grief, hurt, guilt, self-loathing, resentment-all these things-but not anger.

It’s appearance stunned you, rocked you, left you adrift.

And you couldn’t contain it.

Honestly, you didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. A part of you reveled in the feeling, the thrill. It was such a departure from the constant misery, and it didn’t _hurt_. It burned, it left you breathless, but it did not hurt.

You looked into her eyes and the fire rose in your chest, sparking down to your fingertips as your hands clenched into fists. Face flushed, you felt _alive_.

And then you _kissed_ her. It was not a gentle kiss like your first, it was not hesitant and full of promises. It was rough and brutal and it made the fire dance. It felt good, it felt like something other than death

It was not a kiss but a punishment. 

You knew of her feelings for you-even after everything you _knew_ -and you knew how to use them against her. You knew what would hurt her.

And you wanted to hurt her. You hadn’t realized until then just how much.

You wanted to kiss her and have her know that it meant nothing to you, just as the lives of your people meant nothing to her; you wanted to fuck her and shatter whatever dreams she still had of the two of you, just as she had shattered yours; you wanted to take from her, just as she took from you; you wanted to strip that armor away and leave her bear; you wanted her raw, and vulnerable, and broken, just you had been raw and vulnerable and broken.   

But you had not wanted to-

to _force_ her.

And yet, you _had_ wanted to make her suffer. And right now, that’s a side of yourself you’re still struggling to reconcile with. As the days take you further and further away from that . . . _moment_ , it becomes harder to understand what happened. It’s like something-something _dark,_ something other-swept over you, engulfed you;and you let it.You did not fight but rather embraced the transformation it thrust upon you.

You’re not sure what it was, only that you’ve never felt anything like it before.

Not even when you were standing in the control room, your hand gripping the lever that would end the lives of 346 people.

Perhaps especially not then. 

You remember that look on her face when you whispered words of hate, how she _flinched_ when your hand invaded the space between her legs, yet refused to push you away. You remember and you feel sick-at what you’d done, at what you might have done. And you don’t think she would have stopped you, you _know_ she wouldn’t have stopped you. You would have pressed forward and she would have said _nothing_ , all as some fucked up form of penance, and you can’t-

You want to say you don’t understand, that you can’t fathom what was going through her mind at that moment, but you do.

_Oh God, you do._

If there was any way of paying for your crimes, any way of making amends-

But there is no way.

Not for you. And not for her.

You’ll never be able to atone for the things you’ve done, never be able to make it right.

But you understand the need to try. You understand the need to suffer for your wrongs. You spent your first three months away from Camp Jaha doing exactly that. Laboring day and night until your body gave out. Surviving on only the barest amounts of food and water. Going days without eating just to feel that gnaw of hunger, to succumb the devastation of starvation. The nights were freezing, even before winter, and you had nothing but the clothes on your back to keep out the cold, and no strength to build a fire. Your blood turned to ice and the sensation was enough almost to make you forget.

But you never forgot.

Those first few months, you never once returned to the camp in search of supplies, to be helped. You embraced your solitude and pain, and craved the wounds it dealt you as though it were a form of healing.

And it helped. For a little while, it really did. Suffering helped. It did not redeem you but it helped. You were paying for your crimes and you could almost imagine that this in some way made things _better_.

It didn’t, of course. But sometimes it was enough just to cling to the brief moment of illusion, to believe for even a second that absolution could be found.

So you understand.

But still, your stomach twists at the memory of what took place in her tent, and maybe that’s another reason you’ve been so reluctant to see her again. You’re afraid of what you might do to her, of what she might let you do, and even more afraid that this time you won’t be able to stop yourself. You’re terrified of how far you’ll go, with nothing but your shaky grip on morality to hold you back.

Your time on the ground has done nothing but try to strip you of your humanity, time and again and you’re so scared now that what you have left isn’t enough-isn’t enough to keep you from become a monster completely.

It’s no longer a question of what you’re capable of but rather what you’re _not_. And it scares you that you no longer have an answer to that.

You know that you can stick a knife in a boy’s neck to ease the agony of his passing; that you will stab a man to save a life, whether it be yours or someone else’s; you will burn 300 people, and two you love, to save your own; and you will threaten the life of a girl in order to find those people again; you will use the death of a woman who was going to help you in order to manipulate the emotions of another; you will kill the boy you love and send your closest friend into danger; you will run away from a village with your own people inside it and watch as it turns to ash; and you will execute a man just to prove a point . . .

You will deliver a slow, agonizing death to 302 adults and 44 children, and you will not regret it.

_You will not regret it._    

And now you know this: that you will hurt a person not because you need to but because you _want_ to.      

And fuck that scares you. 

Before now, all your crimes have been for necessity’s sake, done to ensure the survival of those you protect. There is something more justifiable in that. You will never gain absolution for the lives you’ve sacrificed, never be able to put aside the guilt, but while your actions were . . . _monstrous,_ your intentions were not. Your only desire was to save.

But you cannot say the same when it comes to what you did to Lexa. You cannot even entertain the thought. Your actions were damaging and your intentions were hurtful. You wanted to make her _bleed_.

There _is_ no justification for that.

You went into that tent with an understanding and willingness to-not to forgive, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive-but to pardon. You thought to mend the tattered remains of the alliance, for the sake of your people if nothing else. And you wanted to talk, to look into the mirror that was Lexa and be reassured that you are not the only one surviving on the bare scraps of a blackened soul; to see proof that it is possible to carry on after so much sacrifice, just as Lexa has been doing ever since she became commander, long before you reached this earth.

You suppose you sought comfort. 

And in the end you found it. She gave it you.

But only after you tried to destroy her.

She held you, as you cried for the first time since the Mountain, and listened to the words you could never say to any other. She awoke hope in you, that there could be a future, a life, even without the absolution you so craved. She did not offer you forgiveness as Bellamy once had, you would not have appreciated the lie. But she found other ways of staunching the flow of guilt and shame within you. And for the first time in so long, you fell asleep and did not wonder if you deserved to wake.

And yet, even as you lay there, apologizing in the only way you could bare, by tracing her skin with a gentle finger, you felt it-that lingering, gnawing resentment. And while you welcomed her presence, a part of you burned, hungered for something else. You wanted to both smooth the pain from her face and drag your nails through her vulnerable flesh. You wanted to hold her and you wanted to tear her to pieces. 

So you ran.

And you do not know if you should return.

You do not know if she would even want you to.

That’s a lie. 

 

.... 

 

“So, what’s going on between you and Echo really? You’ve never said.” Though it might be more accurate to say, you never asked.

You’re all seated on logs around the fire-all being you, Bellamy, Raven, Octavia, Lincoln and Monty. You can see Jasper in the distance at a different fire, sandwiched between Miller and Harper. You try not to let it hurt but every so often you’ll catch Monty gazing off in Jasper’s direction and your dinner will start to make a reappearance in your throat-

_you did that_.

“Yeah, Bell, what is going on between you and Echo?” Octavia needles, looking far too pleased at the turn of conversation. You worry for a moment about what you might have just unleashed.  

Bellamy glances down at your question and smiles, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “It’s ‘complicated’.” His eyes find yours and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the subtle dig, though you suppose it’s mostly deserved after placing him on the hot seat. Catching your response, his not-quite-smile twitches in amusement.

“Bellamy has a girlfriend,” Octavia singsongs and you have never been more reminded of her age. Still, it’s somewhat nice, to see her fooling around like this. It brings back memories of a time when you would have thought her more prone to chasing butterflies than wiping blood off a sword.

By that stage you’d already suffered both Wells’ and your father’s deaths, killed a boy and watched a little girl jump off a cliff . . .

And yet you would give anything to return to that time.

You wonder if anyone else feels the same. Octavia? No, you don’t think so. Although she wears a killer’s hands, she is happier now, she has her brother and Lincoln, and an autonomy that alluded her even back then. Even Bellamy is perhaps better off. His sister is safe and so are his people, and he actually has friends now rather than lackeys. And though he too has nightmares now, he is a better person than he once was.

You cannot say the same for yourself.

“Bellamy does _not_ have a girlfriend,” he protests, though his efforts are wasted on the group at large.

Raven leans in now, smirk in place, eager to join the let’s-tease-Bellamy game. You wince, wondering what exactly you’ve begun. “Come on, shooter, we’ve all seen it.”

You think Raven would go back, if given the chance. Not out of self-loathing for the person she has become but grief. She has lost much, more than most. Even now, her hand absentmindedly massages her leg in response to a phantom pain that exists even without the healthy nerves to feel it. And then there’s Finn.

You would not go back for Finn, not solely for him, at least. His death nearly destroyed you but it is not what did, and if that is all you suffered, you would not now long for the past as you do.

But Raven . . . She never mentions him anymore but you know she aches for him in a way you can’t afford to, even after all this time. 

Bellamy scowls at her. “I repeat, I do not have a girlfriend.” His mouth quirks, mind latching on to something. “Why don’t we all talk about Raven and _her_ boyfriend who is actually her boyfriend.”

Raven’s grin only turns more wolfish. “Wow, Bellamy, I had no idea you were so interested in my sex life. But if that’s the case-”

He groans, looking every bit as disgusted as Clarke feels, whilst Octavia perks up with a disturbing amount of interest. You wonder if her, at times, shameless curiosity is a side effect of the extremely sheltered life she lived before coming to the ground. She approaches everything from the sexual relations of others to the patterns of the seasons, with the same amount of eagerness and thirst for knowledge.

Bellamy gets up when it becomes clear the conversation isn’t going to take a turn for the better, at least in his regards. “I give up. I’m out.”

“No, no wait, we’re sorry,” Raven says, reaching out a hand to hold him back, though her apology is somewhat ruined by her unfaltering grin. “Let’s talk serious. Whenever we bring this up you change the topic. Why’s it complicated?”

He frowns down at her, not entirely appeased. “It just is.”

“Why? You’re hot, she’s hot, you could be hot together.”

“Hell yeah,” is Octavia’s well thought out contribution.

He rolls his eyes at her but takes a seat back down. His sister is leaning forwards in her seat, chin resting on hand as she smiles and waits. Lincoln however is shaking his head, amused but exasperated by their antics.

You catch Monty’s gaze over Raven’s head and the two of you share a small smile. It’s the first smile you’ve seen from Monty in over five weeks.

And you think you have found someone else who yearns to escape to the past.

Bellamy sighs, glancing around at you all, evaluating whether or not sharing such sensitive information is really to his benefit. His hesitance is not uncalled for, you think, taking in the matching smirks on Octavia and Raven’s faces.

You feel guilty for unleashing this on him. It wasn’t your intention. Honestly, you assumed that Bellamy and Echo’s story was old news by now and your cluelessness came only from self absorption, just as with Raven. You knew there was _something_ going on between her and Wick because you caught them making out once during your stay in the Mountain, but you had no idea he’d been elevated to boyfriend status until just now. And you understand what a big deal it is-you thought Raven even less likely than you to let someone in like that, to risk that level of hurt again. Yet when she dropped the word in conversation, you seemed the only one surprised to hear it.

Clearly the same could not be said for the situation with Bellamy and Echo-and you wish you kept your mouth shut.

He only winks at you, though, when you send him an apologetic look. You suppose that means you’re forgiven.

Another sigh and he gives in, hunching forward in his seat with a shrug. “She’s a grounder and I’m a sky person. Historically, that hasn’t been an easy bridge to cross.” Octavia and Lincoln share a look and you shift a little in your seat, uncomfortable.“And she’s got her duty to her village, anything else comes second to that.”

It’s a predicament you can relate to, though on a far greater scale, and you feel for him.

It was a surprise to learn that the grounder Bellamy befriended inside Mount Weather was a Wood Clan chief, the only other that existed besides Indra. Her village was located farther away, closer to Ice Nation territory, and the distance made her meetings with Bellamy sparse. Their friendship was a boon to the sky people, though. Whilst their relationship with Tondc were now nonexistent-mostly a case of ‘we’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of ours’-they found help in Echo and her village. She sent warriors to teach them how to fight, hunt, make clothes for themselves. She kept them up to date on what was happening within the coalition and any new threats, and warned them about how harsh winter could be.

You’ve only met her twice and she’s done nothing as of yet to rub you wrong way. Beyond that, you can’t say whether or not she and Bellamy would be any good together. It’s something you should probably stay away from, at any rate, seeing as you’re not exactly the best judge when it comes to relationships.

“Yeah, but, you like her,” Octavia says, “And she obviously likes you-why else would she be sending us all these gifts.”

Bellamy shakes his head though, smiling at her mistake. “That’s gratitude for how we helped her people in the Mountain. It’s nothing to do with me.”

She opens her mouth to protest but Lincoln shakes his head at her. “No, he’s right.”

Bellamy looks a little too smug at this, while Raven rolls her eyes and Octavia pouts.

“Why would she even care?”

“She’s paying her debt. We helped free her and her people from Mount Weather, and she’s honoring that the only way she can now,” Lincoln explains quietly. “Our people don’t like to be indebted to anyone, it shames us.”

Your ears prick up at this, despite yourself. You can’t help but be interested in the grounders’ ways. Not just because they’re culture is so different from yours but because their culture is Lexa’s culture, their ways are her ways. And you shouldn’t want to know more about her, the things that shape her, that her tick-at least not for any other reason than tactical advantage-but . . .

You do.

To your never ending frustration, you do. 

Octavia, however, does not share your curiosity. “Yeah, well, apparently a little shame’s OK to if it means they can run away with their tail between their legs.” She’s been toying with a long stick for most of the night-and by ‘toying’ you mean poking Bellamy in the side with it whenever he’s turned away. Now, she’s scowling down at the ground, digging the stick in and out as draws angry lines back and forth.

Octavia knows how to hold grudges, and she’s been nursing a rather sizable one for the grounders ever since Mount Weather. Honestly, you think a part of it might be down to hurt, maybe a large part. She threw herself heart and soul into their ways, embraced them in a way she never had the sky people, and they abandoned her. Indra, her mentor, a person you suspect she looked up to more than anyone else in her whole life, cast her away aside like she was nothing.

You can relate.

And yet you say, “They were only following their commander’s orders. And whatever our role in freeing their people from Mount Weather, we still destroyed two of their villages with rockets, killed 300 of their warriors and slaughtered 18 of their people. And they let us live.” You gaze down at the remains of your dinner, and there is a nausea now in place of appetite. “Maybe we’re the ones who had a debt to pay.”

The campfire falls into silence but you won’t look up to meet anyone’s gaze.

The truth is, you’ve had a lot of time to think in your self-enforced solitude-a _lot_ -and your thoughts always seem to have a way of circling back to death. There is so much of it. Because of you. Because of your people. So much.

You came down to the ground like you had a right to it and-while there were mistakes made on both sides-there is no denying the fact that the grounders have suffered more hurt than they’ve caused. How many of yours have they killed, really? How many families have they destroyed?

You sigh and hand your plate to Bellamy. He has a hunger that far surpasses your own and you know he’ll finish it off with no questions asked. He accepts it with an understanding smile.

No, you can’t blame the grounders.

You don’t even know if you can blame Lexa.

But you do blame Lexa.

Or try to.

You’re really trying too. 

It’s so much easier to blame her than to forgive her. So much safer.

“Well, that was a mood killer. Moving on,” Raven cuts in, deciding that the tense atmosphere that has swallowed you whole is not what she had in mind for their ‘team bonding’, as she put it earlier when rounding up the group for dinner.

She seems rather fixed on uniting you all again, and you can’t figure out why. She’s always been a private person, not particularly wanting of anyone’s company besides Finn’s. But in this she is determined. She is determined to mend the rifts between her people. You even caught her playing mediator to a conversation between Jasper and Bellamy the other day-no punches were thrown so you it success.

“If Echo feels so bad about what happened at the Mountain why does she always give you the stink eye when she comes by?” Raven asks Lincoln. “I mean, you’re the only one who actually tried to stay behind to help. And when that didn’t work you came back for us. Plus you both have the hots for Blakes. Seems like you should be best of buds.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes-you assume at the ‘hots for Blakes’ part-but he keeps silent by biting into your leftover rabbit leg, apparently deeming it not worth the effort.

If Raven hoped to return to the upbeat mood of earlier by steering things back round to Echo, though, than she should have picked a different question.

Lincoln was silent for a moment. “I disobeyed a direct order. Betrayed my people, and in doing so proved myself disloyal. Whether or not Echo wanted to help you that night at Mount Weather, the commander ordered against it. And that is all that matters.” He glances up from the fire. “There is nothing the Trikru value more than loyalty-we have only survived this long because we can trust in one another, because we are duty bound to do best by our people, because our loyalty comes first before everything. Without it one has no worth.” He shrugs his shoulders and turns his gaze back upon the flames. There is a tenseness to him now that you haven’t seen in months, a darkness to his eyes.

Choosing Octavia and the sky people lost Lincoln his clan, the friends and family of his birth, but you realize now it might also have cost him much more than that. 

Bellamy, for his part, doesn’t look surprised by anything said and you wonder whether this is a conversation he’s already had with Echo. Maybe ‘complicated’ entails a lot more than he first let on. How would the Trikru view a relationship between one of their own and the sky people now? Things are still shaky between the two groups, with trust at an all time low. Would her people reject Echo if she and Bellamy ever started anything? They probably wouldn’t get the chance to-she’s chief and duty comes first. You doubt she would ever do anything that her people were likely to oppose, especially if it wasn’t in their best interest.

Again, you feel guilty for starting the conversation in the first place, for putting Bellamy on the spot about something so obviously. You bite your lip and make a promise to apologize to him later.

Octavia squeezes Lincoln’s hand and there is a hard set to her jaw. “It’s a shame the commander doesn’t share such a trait.”

“She’s loyal to her people,” you murmur without thought. The glare you earn from her is enough to make you regret it, and that’s before you start asking yourself why you’re even trying to defend Lexa in the first place.

You suppose the idea of anyone attacking her for her choiceswhile you sit here unopposed makes you uncomfortable; which you guess makes you a hypocrite considering your own conflicted feelings and the way you treated her just a few months ago. But you’re already a murderer and a deserter, why not add hypocrite to the list?

The thing is, you’re no better than Lexa, and you feel this now more than ever, surrounded by your people, sharing in their lives. You don’t deserve their kinship, their support, their laughter. Jasper has the right of it, the way he looks at you now, the way he speaks to you, _that’s_ what you deserve, and more. If anyone should suffer blame for their actions it’s you-you’re the one with the blood of 42 children on your hands.

You wonder if Lexa understands that too, if she has also come to bear the weight of murdered children in her time.

You’re not sure if knowing that she does would make you feel better or worse.

It’s a terrible thing to share.

You sigh, recognizing that Octavia hasn’t stopped glaring at you. “She betrayed us. But she did right by her people.” You poke a stick at the fire, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “I would have done the same.”

And it’s a hard thing to admit to them but it’s about time that they stop looking at you like their savior. You’re not. You’re just the one who was willing to get their hands dirty.

“Yeah, we know _you_ would have,” Octavia bites out and when you look up her cheeks are flushed, her gaze burning into you. And you know she’s remembering Tondc, the people you left to die, how you left _her_ to die.

It turns out you were wrong before-you do know what it’s like to betray someone you love.

“OK,” Raven interrupts with a clap, grin a bit too wide, “changing topics, my investigations into the hot water system have proved conclusive. It’s broken. Again.”

That grabs everyone’s attention and there’s a unanimous groan around the camp fire. Even Monty is showing clear signs of displeasure.

“Miller’s fault. Again.” And she seems a little too happy to be dobbing him in.

“I will kill him,” Octavia vows, though Lincoln steadies her with a calming squeeze.

It takes time but the atmosphere eventually regains some of it’s earlier cheer and frames taught with tension begin to sag once more. At some point, Raven mentions that she and Wick are working on some experimental earplugs because she’s had enough sleepless nights in the bunk next to Octavia and Lincoln’s, and Bellamy chokes, going an odd shade of purple you’ve never seen before. Octavia, for her part, is shameless, offering to give Raven some tips in the bedroom department, whilst Lincoln shakes his head and Monty raises an eyebrow in the background.

There are even a few times when you catch yourself smiling and it’s not so painful. 

And it occurs to you suddenly that you wouldn’t have been able to do this three months ago. Smile and joke. Just _be,_ with your friends. It’s not perfect, it’s not even entirely comfortable, but it’s _something_. And you can say it’s because of the amount of time that’s passed, of the steps you’ve taken towards reimmersing with them, and maybe it is, but this newfound hint of lightness and the way you can sometimes go full nights without a nightmare . . .

That’s down to something else.

Maybe Bellamy was right.  

And you almost . . . want to _thank_ her for that. And that’s possibly the most bizarre thought you’ve had in regards to Lexa in all this time-to the point where you almost question Monty whether he slipped a little moonshine into your drink this evening-but it’s there. You can feel it, suffocated beneath the layers of emotion now tied to Lexa-anger, hurt, sadness, regret, fear, guilt, shame . . . longing.

She brings out the gamut in you, though you think this might be the first that proves positive. It’s a development, at any rate. One you’re not so sure how you feel about yet.

You don’t think you have it in you to thank her, not yet, probably not ever. The wounds she inflicted upon you are too large, too fresh, that thanking her seems no less than ridiculous at this point.  

And yet . . .

You remember her arms around you, hesitant at first but growing tighter, the strength of that hold, and the relief in finding a comfort you abstained from so long; the heat of her breath against your face; the words that both hurt and soothed the tattered remains of your soul; the solace that came with understanding; and you remember the heat of her beside you, as you drifted off into sleep, and how you have missed it every night since.

You sigh and discard your stick, wrapping your arms around yourself and huddling down for warmth.

You watch the flames until they die down, until the chatter and laughs around you begin to tire, and you wonder how long Lexa will be staying in Tondc.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So i hope this wasn't too much of a huge disappointment for you.   
> I just found that there was so much I needed Clarke to work through before I sent her off to Lexa. At the moment, she's just very all over the place-with her emotions, with her thoughts-and I hope that came across on the page. The scene where she's eating dinner with the group at Camp Jaha was also important to me. I'm hoping it conveyed how Clarke is trying to get back to life, she's trying to to get involved with her family and friends again, and although she has moments where things are kind of alright, she's still very much not. She's a part of their group but she's also on the outside. She can't fully immerse herself in that life again. When I was writing it, it reminded me a bit of when I was first going through recovery for my eating disorder/depression and how i was trying to involve myself in things, hang out with friends, but i just wasn't completely there. It was too much effort and it felt too foreign, and it just wasn't where my head was at. But it was also nice at times, just to be with people and watch them, and occasionally participate. And I think that's kind of where Clarke's at in this. What she's going through, it is a kind of recovery, and she's having to learn how to live again, even with all that weighs her down. And it's hard and she's not always successful but she's trying.  
> Anyway, I hope there was a sense of that in this chapter.  
> Also, how was my version of Clarke? Was I in character? I haven't written her before.   
> Sending you all love, and hopefully (pray to god) I will get around to updating :)


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